


You Know I Love You More Than Slightly

by AppleSharon



Series: Good Omens Kink Meme Prompt Fills [1]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Body Worship, Established Relationship, Fluff, Getting Together, Good Omens Kink Meme 2019, M/M, Oral Sex, Praise Kink, Snake Crowley (Good Omens)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-30
Updated: 2019-11-01
Packaged: 2020-05-31 03:43:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,295
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19417789
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AppleSharon/pseuds/AppleSharon
Summary: There was that warmth again and Crowley couldn’t help but lean into it, tilting his cheek into Aziraphale’s palm before remembering himself and pulling away. His slit pupils widened as much as they possibly could, and suddenly everything seemed too bright.Aziraphale continued to beam up at him.Crowley conjured up another pair of sunglasses on his face.“Oh! Is this a game?”The angel looked delighted as he magicked them away with a snap of his fingers.Written for the Good Omens Kink Meme 2019.Prompt: Crowley has more snake features than just the eyes, and he's certain Aziraphale will be put off. Aziraphale shows him how much he doesn't mind. Please give me tender moments where Aziraphale takes the sunglasses off and tells him he's beautiful.





	1. You know I love you more than slightly

**Author's Note:**

> Since I've sunk into this fandom wholeheartedly, I decided to try my hand at a few kink meme prompt fills. This is my first attempt and it was a prompt regarding Crowley's snake-like features. Anon wanted tender moments between the two so hopefully this delivered! I really enjoyed writing it.

“To the _world_.”

Crowley shivered as he tilted the stem of his wineglass. The bowl met Aziraphale’s with a soft clink that blended into the background noise of idle human chatter, utensils scraping against ceramic plates, and other, similar toasts. 

None were quite as monumental as the toast a certain angel and a certain demon had just completed, but Crowley supposed that should have been the entire point of it all: the world continued turning with humanity none the wiser outside of a few odd news reports that were now in the process of being redacted. 

Aziraphale’s voice felt warm around Crowley, wrapping angelic love into the one-syllable word “world.” Crowley couldn’t help but smile genuinely in response, without his usual mask of sarcasm to place the angel at arm’s length when he drew close. 

It was Crowley’s nature to bask in warmth like a serpent. Despite his mostly-human vessel, Crowley had kept some of his ectothermic tendencies and his response to Aziraphale’s voice was as involuntary as his natural inclination to bask in the sun.

His sunglasses slipped down his face as his smile reached his eyes — quite rare for Crowley normally — and Crowley quickly pushed them back onto the bridge of his nose with an index finger. 

The angel frowned.“My dear,” Aziraphale began. And there it was again. Crowley had to stop himself from leaning closer to soak in the warmth of Aziraphale’s voice. A soft blush from the wine painted the angel’s cheeks as he grinned openly at Crowley. 

“I wish you wouldn’t do that.” 

Crowley’s smile fell and was swiftly replaced with confusion. Aziraphale lifted his hands to his own face, placing his fingers on each temple. 

“I wish you wouldn’t hide your eyes. They’re quite beautiful.”

Frowning, and in lieu of a verbal response, Crowley bristled and shrugged.

_I don’t want all of the humans here to know that I’m a demon._

This is what Crowley could have said, but it wouldn’t have been the truth. 

_I don’t want to remind you that I’m a demon._

This is what Crowley left unsaid. 

Aziraphale nodded with purpose, as if Crowley had said something quite profound and he was responding to it. Crowley watched as the angel dabbed the corners of his mouth with a cloth napkin before rising from their miraculously-acquired table at the Ritz.

“Care for a nightcap, my dear?”

Crowley fell in step behind Aziraphale as the angel led him from the restaurant, following his warmth.

***

So began a series of minor annoyances for one Anthony J. Crowley: mostly-retired demon.

(Crowley couldn’t help but perform a few curses here and there, inconveniencing humans for his own entertainment, despite knowing that Down Below was not expecting any sort of paperwork after Aziraphale’s rousing bathtub performance, hence “mostly-retired.”)

Without their respective bosses to keep track of their efforts, Aziraphale had immediately begun inviting Crowley over every day, sometimes multiple times a day or with plans in mind for several days’ time. Together, the two eased into a more open partnership.

This was not an annoyance. Quite the opposite actually. This was something that Crowley had fervently hoped would happen for years. Crowley had loved Aziraphale since the angel had given away his God-given sword to the pair of hapless humans at The Garden and was more than happy to spend as much time as possible with the angel now that both of their burdens had lessened. 

However, Aziraphale had instituted a new policy at his bookshop. He even had the audacity to add said policy to his “Store Hours” sign in flowery handwritten script.

“This store has a strict ‘No Sunglasses Policy.’ All customers must remove any unnecessary eyewear or they will be removed from the premises.”

The sign had appeared the morning after their dinner at the Ritz. 

Crowley had sputtered at this and walked into the shop without removing his sunglasses anyway. Aziraphale had appeared in front of him immediately, reached up slowly — Crowley forgot to breathe during this entire exchange — and removed the glasses himself. 

“Oh, _Crowley_ ,” the angel had said with the same reverence and syncopation he had given “world” the other night during their toast. 

“Your eyes are radiant, my dear.”

There was that warmth again and Crowley couldn’t help but lean into it, tilting his cheek into Aziraphale’s palm before remembering himself and pulling away. His slit pupils widened as much as they possibly could, and suddenly everything seemed too bright. 

Aziraphale continued to beam up at him. 

Crowley conjured up another pair of sunglasses on his face. 

“Oh! Is this a game?” 

The angel looked delighted as he magicked them away with a snap of his fingers. 

“I thought you were in the process of being written up for frivolous miracles, angel,” Crowley tried for an acerbic tone, but it came out more fond than anything else to his utter dismay. 

“Oh no one’s keeping score dear,” Aziraphale said, patting Crowley’s cheek before stepping back.

Crowley’s face suddenly felt impossibly cold.

“Not anymore.”

***

When taking human form, Crowley retained certain snake-like qualities. His eyes were only the most visually-obvious trait.

Crowley wasn’t cold-blooded per se, but his human vessel had about the poorest circulation a human could possibly have. He was forever cold and, like a snake, was in constant search of heat. This is why much of his flat was dark, but his bedroom had a sunroof that defied sound and proper architecture. 

When he was drunk, sleepy, or overwhelmed, his speech become increasingly sibilant, often devolving into hissing. 

On certain parts of his body — usually in places where the skin itself was naturally thin like his wrists or beneath his eyes — skin gave way to dark iridescent scales.

He had trouble seeing during the day. This was another reason for the sunglasses, but the true reason was to hide his eyes and scale patches from Aziraphale. Crowley had long given up on impressing humans, and he could always use his demonic glamour if he wished, although he thought himself rather clever for being able to use this as an excuse to Aziraphale as to why he didn’t want to remove his sunglasses in public. 

Crowley didn’t have to eat, but when he did (only in Aziraphale’s presence and when the angel insisted) he swallowed his food in large whole bites that humans would likely find impossible to accomplish without triggering their gag reflex. 

His tongue was slightly forked and — although Crowley tried to avoid doing this, it was a frequent nervous tic — could help him smell the air more precisely than his perfectly-functional human nose. 

Crowley could also turn into a somewhat large, black snake, but rarely did so. 

Yet, on this particular dreary day, Crowley had found himself cold upon waking. He shifted into snake form and coiled himself in the centre of his bed, basking in any available sunlight filtering in through the grey clouds and into his bedroom via the convenient sunroof. 

It was here where Aziraphale found him, dozing with his eyes open. 

Aziraphale had received the key to Crowley’s flat the night he had stayed there — and subsequently become Crowley for a day — and had yet to return it. Today, Aziraphale had become bored, and a bit concerned despite promises from both Up Above and Down Below that they would be left alone, when Crowley hadn’t shown up for their scheduled lunch. 

His concern only grew when he called out Crowley’s name upon entering the flat and received no response but was quickly allayed at the sight of a black snake sleeping on Crowley’s bed. 

“Oh, my dear boy.” 

Aziraphale sat next to Crowley radiating warmth and love. In response, Crowley shifted. His tongue flicked out into the air and his head moved towards Aziraphale’s lap. 

Delighted at this show of trust, Aziraphale reached out and ran his finger down the snake’s back, marveling at the smoothness of Crowley’s scales. 

“You’re _beautiful_ ,” Aziraphale said aloud. 

Crowley woke up. 

Upon remembering himself, Crowley dove underneath the covers and shifted back into human form. Embarrassed, his dark glasses popped onto his face as Crowley emerged from the covers, looking frightened. 

“Now, now, none of that.”

Aziraphale snapped his fingers and the glasses vanished. 

“Angel I’m in my own home!”

The glasses reappeared. 

“You don’t need them, dear. Not around me. I shan’t judge you.”

It was a soft plea. The glasses disappeared again. 

Frustrated, Crowley grabbed at his own hair rather violently and pulled. 

“You don’t need any more reminders that I’m a ssssssnake!”

Crowley looked mortified as a sibilant “s” escaped his lips but continued.

“I’m a demon! I fell!”

_I don’t deserve you._

_I’ll hurt you._

The angel reached forward with a patient smile and took Crowley’s wrist into his hands. Watching Crowley, Aziraphale turned it over, pulling back as the demon attempted to wrest himself from Aziraphale’s grasp. 

Crowley shuddered as Aziraphale ran his finger slowly down the inside of his wrist, where a few black scales peeked up through his skin. 

The angel raised Crowley’s wrist to his lips and pressed a kiss against the scales. 

Crowley moaned softly. 

“I love you,” Aziraphale said. 

“You love everything. You have to,” Crowley grumbled. But it didn’t have any bite to it, and Aziraphale only smiled wider.

“We both know that’s not true, my dear.”

And Crowley did know. He knew all too well after his short stint as Aziraphale in the face of Gabriel’s cold taunting. 

Another kiss was pressed to Crowley’s wrist. And another. Aziraphale licked and sucked at Crowley’s pulse, humming as it leapt in a rather human way under his lips. 

Crowley whined.

“‘Zzsssssira.”

It came out more as a hiss. 

Aziraphale looked up and pressed his thumb lightly against the small scales that had appeared beneath Crowley’s eyes, where human dark circles would appear. He covered Crowley’s lips with his own and allowed his warmth to wash over the demon. 

For his part, Crowley reached out towards Aziraphale, pulling the angel on top of him as he sunk back into the bed.

***

As their relationship transitioned into something more painfully and wonderfully human, Aziraphale took particular care in ensuring that Crowley knew just how much the angel appreciated his snake-like qualities.

“Angel, I didn’t know you had such a thing for snakes,” Crowley had said once. 

“I don’t,” Aziraphale had responded. “But I do have a thing, as you say, for _you."_

And then the angel kissed Crowley gently. Crowley flicked out his tongue experimentally and licked Aziraphale’s lips, eliciting a surprisingly loud moan in response. Trembling, Crowley tried to make his way down Aziraphale’s chest, past the swell of the angel’s belly, licking salt sweat as he moved. 

Instead, Crowley was flipped underneath Aziraphale with a surprising show of strength. Aziraphale seemed everywhere at once and Crowley keened, writhing frantically against him. 

“Oh Crowley. My dear. You’re _gorgeous_. You're so, so good.”

Crowley heard this whispered into his ear, yet Aziraphale’s mouth was somehow on the length of him, slowly drawing out Crowley’s orgasm until the demon shuddered and came. Aziraphale smiled around him, swallowing neatly and licking his lips in satisfaction. 

“Zzsssssira. F-fuck.”

He flicked his tongue out to smell Aziraphale’s sweat and bask in the angel’s warmth in the same way that he would have coiled in the sun for hours. 

“D’you mind if I jussssssst…”

Crowley felt another kiss, a soft, delicate brush on his forehead. 

“Sleep, dearest.”


	2. Although I've never said it like this before

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“As you know, I’ve retained some serpentine qualities,” Crowley began. Aziraphale laughed._
> 
> _“Is this about your shedding, dearest?”_
> 
> _Crowley looked up in shock._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Why I'm writing an addendum to this story instead of working on the other unfinished stories I have remains a mystery.

The first few weeks, Crowley couldn’t believe his luck. 

He didn’t believe in fortune or luck all that much — or hadn’t, until the Apocalypse-that-wasn’t changed his mind ever-so-slightly from “luck doesn’t exist whatsoever” to “I don’t understand how something this wonderful has happened to me.”

Yet, when he woke up to an empty bed, still smelling of petrichor, books, and musty clothes, with a soft off-key humming coming from his kitchen, Crowley couldn’t see himself as anything but lucky. 

Perhaps he needed to expand his vocabulary. The angel could help with that as well. 

“You love everything. You have to,” he had said to Aziraphale the night before, despite knowing this to be false, or at least, not the sole reason behind the angel’s increased affection. 

Still, it was difficult to believe after all these years. Belief, Crowley thought to himself with a wry smile and small chuckle that bubbled up into the empty bedroom, hadn’t ever been one of his strong points. 

Crowley shifted in bed and was met with a sudden, startling pain in his wrists. He glanced down to see that his scales were more pronounced than usual. Never one to leave well enough alone, Crowley picked at them idly, pulling one out with a sharp wince. 

“And so it begins,” he muttered darkly. 

“Did you say something, dearest?”

Crowley couldn’t help but smile as Aziraphale called out from the kitchen. He flicked the scale neatly into a small rubbish bin. Shedding could be a messy business and Crowley, despite lackadaisical outward appearances, appreciated tidiness, especially in his own home. 

“Not a thing!” he yelled back. 

Aziraphale poked his head into the bedroom with an admonishing smile. 

“I can hear you perfectly well, Crowley. You don’t have to shout.”

Crowley grinned. Aziraphale rarely slept, but with his wild curls, wrinkled pyjamas, and mug of tea in hand, the angel gave a distinct impression of a Victorian-era Oxford University professor who had been roused by a wayward student. 

He hadn’t expected Aziraphale to fall into his bed, and he certainly hadn’t expected the two of them to fall into such a comfortable pattern of domesticity. Domesticity that had brought no small amount of discomfort to Crowley, who was unused to opening up fully. Yes, he had been the one reaching out all of these years, but there had been a safety in not having his feelings returned. It was difficult to believe, Crowley thought once more, shaking his head at the thought of belief. Crowley vacillated wildly between walking away — his fear of hurting Aziraphale overwhelming in its scope at times — and wanting to curl up beside him for all eternity.

Crowley supposed that walking away would hurt Aziraphale regardless. 

All of this must have flickered across his face, since Aziraphale hadn’t moved from the doorway and had paused, watching Crowley with a bemused expression. Crowley’s hand twitched. He would have reached for his sunglasses, but he knew that Aziraphale would just miracle them away. 

Crowley rapidly tried to calculate a plan to keep his shedding from Aziraphale. It was disgusting. Another holdover from his demonic, serpentine qualities that he wanted Aziraphale to know as little of as possible. Realizing that there was little he could do but tell the truth, Crowley cringed and then patted the bed, motioning for Aziraphale to sit beside him, bedclothes already rumpled and indented where the angel had likely been reading for most of the previous night. 

Aziraphale nodded, still smiling gently at him. Crowley looked at the sheets, worrying them by rubbing a corner between his index finger and thumb. 

“As you know, I’ve retained some serpentine qualities,” Crowley began. Aziraphale laughed.

“Is this about your shedding, dearest?”

Crowley looked up in shock. 

Aziraphale shrugged, eyes brightly-lit with mirth and curiosity. 

“There have been more scales in the bath lately,” Aziraphale said. “You were also scratching at yourself in your sleep last night. Oh! And your eyes have this lovely scale pattern around them that I can only assume you’re trying to hide but for some reason cannot.”

Swallowing, Crowley tried, unsuccessfully, to hide his mortification. 

“Well, then I’ll just—“

He trailed off. Aziraphale looked at him expectantly, taking a small sip of tea. 

“I won’t bother you with it, angel. I’ll just be in the bath for a day and it will be over before you know it. No more scale buildup in the tub.”

“Bother me?” 

Aziraphale sounded genuinely confused. In turn, Crowley was confused as to how the angel could see shedding as anything but another repulsive holdover from his demonic form. He shuddered, resisting the urge to pull away, as Aziraphale gently reached out and turned over his wrist, revealing dull, black scales. Crowley shivered as Aziraphale pressed a kiss there. 

“Angel.”

He said this as a warning but it came out more as a plea. The sensitivity of his skin and scales was certainly at odds with his embarrassment over the entire situation. 

“I’m simply offering to help,” Aziraphale said, murmuring against Crowley’s wrist, his lips brushing against the scales. 

Crowley shuddered.

“Don’t need help.”

Hours later, Crowley was panting, wholly exhausted and splayed out on top of their bed. A nearby towel had been thrown on the floor and was covered in black scales. This would usually bother Crowley, but he was too tired at the moment to care. 

“Don’t you see now, dearest?” 

Aziraphale turned to him, face flushed. 

“All you needed was a bit of help and some exercise.”

Crowley groaned, shifting his arm from where it had been draped across Aziraphale’s chest. He turned his wrists over, watching as bright, fresh scales receded underneath the skin of his human corporation. 

“Sometimes I wonder which one of us is the angel and which one of us is the demon,” Crowley responded, slightly out of breath. “You’re a bastard sometimes, angel.”

There was no bite to his insult. It was said with a satisfied pride. 

“Isn’t that what you called me? Just enough of a bastard?”

Aziraphale’s voice was equally breathless. 

“To be worth knowing, yeah,” Crowley said.


	3. Whenever I put my foot in my mouth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _They were, without a doubt, the ugliest accessory that Crowley owned._
> 
> _“I like to read sometimes,” Crowley blurted out. “And I have to wear glasses because I can’t see otherwise.”_
> 
> _Aziraphale burst out laughing._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a "Crowley retains serpentine qualities collection," but also a "Crowley worries too much about mundane shit, works himself up, and then they have sex" collection, apparently. ^ ^;

Aziraphale didn’t sleep. 

Crowley had known this, of course, but he hadn’t been faced with any immediate consequences from this until recently. If you could call them consequences at all. 

They were more minor inconveniences, similar to Aziraphale’s updated sunglasses policy which the two had since turned into rather rewarding game that sometimes involved chasing each other around the bookshop and always ended in Aziraphale’s freshly-minted upstairs bedroom. 

Upon further introspection, Crowley internally settled on the word “consequences” since this all started with a lie. A lie from his human corporation’s lips, told well before the Apocalypse was in any way an event in the distant future, never mind on an impending horizon or the very event that — once soundly thwarted by a defiant Antichrist — brought them together in a more concrete, physical way. 

Their recent closeness was also related to this particular issue, but that was hardly a problem. 

In fact, it was a benefit, and as Crowley continued to worry about how he was going to get out of this situation without admitting to Aziraphale that he had lied in the past, his mind became distracted with the many entertaining and exhausting situations that their new relationship brought with it. 

He rubbed his eyes absentmindedly. The small micro-scale patches above his cheeks smoothed out comfortably. He could only hope that Aziraphale wasn’t looking at the moment, and that they would fade in time. 

Crowley’s fingers twitched as he looked towards the nightstand. There was a small cactus perched on top of it. A gift from Aziraphale that Crowley hadn’t been all that keen on receiving outside of the fact that it was from Aziraphale and of course he wasn’t going to do anything like throw it out the window so it would smash on the kerb, or dump it in the rubbish bin.

He did mimic doing both of these things to keep the other plants in line, not to mention the fact that a cactus was almost insulting. It was as if Aziraphale hadn’t thought that he could actually take care of plants properly. 

Although they had just recently merged their lives together, so perhaps Aziraphale truly hadn’t known. 

What was more important than the cactus was the source of Crowley’s momentary angst — he did, admittedly, have a tendency to overthink things just a bit — tucked inside the tiny nightstand drawer: a book and a pair of reading glasses. 

Aziraphale hummed softly beside him. The angel was reading a book that, by all appearances, was about to crumble into dust at the next turn of a page.

“I know you’re awake, dearest,” Aziraphale said softly without looking up from his book. “Did you need something?”

Crowley did need something, but he didn’t know how to go about acquiring it. Instead, he settled for a mumbled, “S’nothing, angel,” and slunk off to the kitchen. He hadn’t been pretending to be asleep anyway. 

The lie burned in his mouth.

Years ago, Crowley had told Aziraphale that he didn’t read. He could read, but chose not to. This had prompted Aziraphale to push various books into his hands throughout the centuries with Crowley refusing at every turn. 

Crowley loved this attention and the way the angel’s eyes lit up as he handed Crowley a book that he was sure, this time, Crowley would love. 

It almost made the pain of Aziraphale’s fading smile at Crowley’s continued refusals worth it. 

Yet, Crowley did appreciate some human literature, although it would never be on the same scale as Aziraphale’s impressive, studious, and exhausting reverence for every last written word. He couldn’t pinpoint exactly why he had lied to Aziraphale — the truth of it somewhere between the fact that it would have been something he had found amusing at the time, he wanted any attention from the angel at all, and he had already realized that he could never love books as much as Aziraphale. Lying about it kept an acceptable distance between them that the angel, at that time, had been all too eager to keep up. 

The kitchen was another area that had previously been barren until Aziraphale had taken to visiting his flat. Now empty mugs sat face-down in a recently-miracled drying rack next to the sink. There was a dirty dishcloth, wrung out and drying on the handle of a cabinet. It had a yellow pattern of wings and halos. Aziraphale had found it in the window of a shop one afternoon and had been so amused, he had immediately rushed inside and purchased it, never mind the fact that neither of them bothered to cook. 

Crowley opened the refrigerator, glancing over a surprisingly wide variety of food before closing the door without removing anything. 

Just as Aziraphale didn’t sleep, Crowley didn’t really eat. He did love watching Aziraphale eat, an activity that ranged from simple pleasure at Aziraphale’s happiness to an urgent desire to suck the angel off under a restaurant table, hidden by white tablecloths and forcing Aziraphale to pass off his moans as praise for the food and the dining establishment. Aziraphale was, if nothing else, expressive in his enjoyment. 

Crowley hadn’t expected to be this desperately horny while in a relationship with Aziraphale either, but he also hadn’t expected to be in any sort of romantic or human relationship with Aziraphale at all. He shifted, moving his hips against the centre island, remembering how Aziraphale had bent him over it a fortnight ago. 

The hidden book in question was a paperback copy of Geoffrey Chaucer’s _The Canterbury Tales_. The reading glasses were another unfortunate holdover from life as Hell’s most well-known serpent. 

Simply put, many snakes had abysmal eyesight and Crowley was no exception. His stash of sunglasses also corrected his vision, another truth that he hadn’t bothered to share with Aziraphale through the years. He could better track Aziraphale through scent or even vibrations in the flat more than sight — currently, the angel had just risen from bed and was padding into the kitchen with a small smile.

Without saying anything, Aziraphale reached his arms around Crowley tentatively. Crowley still tensed up at the first touch, but quickly relaxed. 

“I can help you with that,” Aziraphale murmured into his ear. 

Crowley should have realized that, like Aziraphale’s attitude towards food and books, his other desires would be similarly single-minded. He basked for a moment in the heat of Aziraphale’s arms before pulling away. 

“M’fine. Just not feeling well.”

Aziraphale raised an eyebrow, but withdrew his arms from Crowley’s midsection. Crowley had to stop himself from leaning back, chasing the warmth.

“Crowley, I know you’re not ill.”

Aziraphale sounded exasperated, but still fond. The angel pointedly moved his eyes slowly down Crowley’s body, stopping at where Crowley’s erection was outlined and pressed into his pyjama bottoms. 

It all seemed impossibly silly at this point. Crowley was suddenly grateful that Hell had given up on monitoring him for the sole reason that they would be laughing hysterically at his relationship incompetence and mounting shame. 

Like his shedding, which Aziraphale had somehow already known about anyway, he would have to come clean.

Wordlessly, Crowley took Aziraphale’s hand and led him back to the bedroom. Momentarily glaring at the offensive presence of the cactus on the nightstand, Crowley pulled open the drawer, revealing _The Canterbury Tales_ and a hideous pair of glasses. They had boxy, navy-blue frames and took up an inordinate amount of space, magnifying the minute imperfections in the micro-scales beneath his eyes along with the demonic nature of his pupils. 

They were, without a doubt, the ugliest accessory that Crowley owned. 

“I like to read sometimes,” Crowley blurted out. “And I have to wear glasses because I can’t see otherwise.”

Aziraphale burst out laughing.

Crowley watched as the angel failed to hide his mirth and collapsed onto the bed in a fit of giggles.

“Well you don’t have to be so rude about it, angel. I know they’re ugly.”

Crowley began to take them off but was stopped by Aziraphale reaching up and pushing the glasses back onto the bridge of his nose. 

“Quite the opposite, dearest. They’re rather fetching.”

Before Crowley could respond, Aziraphale waggled his eyebrows and pulled Crowley onto the bed in an impressive display of strength.


End file.
